


The Hollow 3

by idyll



Series: The Hollow [3]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Alternate Canon, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, M/M, Prostitution, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-03
Updated: 2005-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:26:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idyll/pseuds/idyll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gunn just can't stay away. Truck!Sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hollow 3

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moosesal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moosesal/gifts).



Gunn stays away for two days and tells himself he's staying away forever. But he can't get the pictures out of his head, can't get Lindsey out of his head, no matter how much he tries. Lindsey on his hands and knees; Lindsey flat on his back; Lindsey flat on his stomach; Lindsey Lindsey Lindsey.

But that's not what takes him back out near Hollywood and Vine. It's not the pictures, fantasies, whatever the hell Gunn wants to call them. Not really. What brings him back that third time is the glitter-edge that comes to Lindsey's eyes, that turns those eyes fucking _silver_ when he's high on sex, the light shines just right, and Lindsey wants to see Gunn's own edge.

And Gunn has time to wonder, those nights when he stays away, about his own edge, about whether he's always had one or if this Lindsey guy just brings it out. He's not one for lying to himself, so he knows it's always been there, just usually used for something different, like staking vamps. And it's something he's never ever let out on someone the way he lets it out on Lindsey. Which he should feel bad about, but doesn't, and it's not because Lindsey's a whore, it's because Lindsey's got that glitter-edge, too.

Gunn doesn't park his truck this time, just crawls to a stop once he pulls up along side Lindsey, who's dressed in a pair of jeans that are more torn up and ripped than whole, and a v-necked white t-shirt that's gotta be two sizes too small or else it wouldn't be so damn tight and wouldn't be riding up his abs the way it is.

There's a cowboy hat tonight, tipped low over Lindsey's forehead, shadowing his face. But Gunn doesn't need to see his face, not really. Gunn just needs to flash some bills and jerk his head, then wait to see if Lindsey takes him up on the offer.

For a moment Lindsey just stands there, still and relaxed, then Gunn arches a brow and he can fucking _feel_ that glitter-shard edge coming into his eyes, and before he can blink Lindsey's in the truck and Gunn's hand is empty of the cash he was holding out just a second ago. The little shit moves faster than Gunn would've thought, that's for sure, and god only knows where he stashed the cash.

The door closes soundly and Lindsey slouches in the passenger seat, legs spread, tanned skin showing through rips and tears in denim at his thighs, his fingers playing with hanging threads.

"Seat belt," Gunn says after blinking a few times. Lindsey tips him a look from beneath the brim of his hat, and Gunn can't see it all that clearly but he knows it's got to be incredulous. He doesn't much care. "Seat belt," he repeats.

Lindsey makes a noise that's like a snicker, but he pulls the lap belt over and across. Only when it clicks into place does Gunn put the truck in gear and pull into traffic, but not before he notices the way Lindsey adjusts himself, slouches down further, tilts his hips up, and spreads his knees wider.

The air in the cab of the truck is charged or something. Electric and tangible. Gunn can feel it sparking off his skin, and he knows it's all coming from their eyes, even though both of them are looking forward as Gunn drives.

"Take your dick out," Gunn says abruptly, the words sharp and tight.

There's an indrawn breath from Lindsey, then, pleasantly, "Fuck off."

"Take it out," Gunn says again, and Lindsey repeats, "Fuck off."

Gunn's lips set and, after a quick glance, he reaches over and clamps a hand around Lindsey's half-hard cock through the jeans. Lindsey sucks in a choked breath and lets out a strangled curse. Gunn follows the line of his dick, palming it somewhere in the middle, and Lindsey arches his back and thrusts up against the firm grip of Gunn's hand.

Gunn tightens his hand even more and Lindsey goes absolutely still.

"Here's how this is going to work," Gunn says easily as he steers the truck into a right turn. "You do what I say and I'll give you what you need." Gunn clenches his hand hard, a quick pulse of painful pressure that Lindsey actually grinds up against, like he wants it more than he wants anything else right now. His breath is ragged and he's slapping his fist against his own thigh, but he's not even trying to get away from Gunn.

"You keep fighting me on everything," Gunn goes on, and lets go of Lindsey's dick, "and you can go your own way."

Lindsey chokes out whole mess of curses, all of them aimed at Gunn, and his hat gets knocked from his head when he turns to the side to glare at Gunn, who only catches sight of the look when he shifts his sightline to glance into the rearview mirror.

"Take your dick out," Gunn says for the third and final time.

Lindsey's fingers are tense and white knuckled when the move to the fly of his jeans, and Gunn doesn't get to see the unbuttoning because there's traffic up ahead and he needs to navigate the truck three lanes over.

"Now what?" Lindsey sneers a few moments later, but the sneer isn't overwhelming, not anymore.

Gunn risks a glance at Lindsey and feels his chest get tight and hot at the sight of Lindsey's cock. Hard and already wet at the tip, framed by frayed and worn denim. Goddamn, it's hotter than hot, Lindsey sitting like that because Gunn _made_ him, because Lindsey _wanted_ Gunn to make him.

Horns beep behind the truck and Gunn realizes he's come to a stop in the middle of the road. He hits the gas again, wishing he'd picked a motel closer to where Lindsey was. But Gunn needs to be closer to the Hyperion than that, just in case something happens and he gets called in.

In the meantime, Gunn's dick gets just as hard as Lindsey's is. Maybe even harder, because it's hotter than anything else Gunn's ever done, this little drive to a sleazy pay-by-the-hour motel with a hustler sitting in the passenger seat with his dick out.

"Touch yourself," Gunn tells Lindsey, and his voice isn't unsteady, but it ain't entirely steady either. Lindsey notices, and he makes a small smug noise. From the corner of Gunn's eye, he sees Lindsey's right hand move. Another noise comes from him, this one more like a catch, a gasp, a choke. Nothing smug at all.

And yeah, oh, yeah. Gunn might not understand this now, maybe never will, but that's just fine. It's damn fine. Because him and Lindsey are both hard, both glitter-edged and just fucking ready for it. There can't be nothing bad in that, except that Gunn can't wait to get to the motel he picked out. It's too far away, he's too hard, and Lindsey's too goddamn hella fuckable right now.

He takes a few turns, then pulls down a street that's dark, mostly abandoned and littered with trash. Lindsey keeps stripping his own dick, groaning at the back of his throat and generally driving Gunn up the fucking wall with want, and when Gunn finally turns off the ignition and unhooks his seat belt, it takes a whole lot not to pounce on Lindsey now that he can really look at what Lindsey's doing.

Lindsey's hand on his dick is rough, and he twists on the head, strokes smooth but hard on the shaft. His hips lift and fall and he's looking right at Gunn while he does it now. And damn if the dim street lamp from half a block up isn't catching Lindsey's eyes and making them a little bit silver.

"All that money just to whack off for you, huh?" Lindsey manages to whisper, his voice sugar-whisky-honey over gravel. "Best deal I've had all week."

Gunn shakes his head. "You'd think this was the worst deal if that's all I got you to do. No matter how much I was paying. Jeans off and slide over."

They shift and move after Lindsey gets rid of boots and jeans, awkward and confused motions that leave them with Gunn sitting in the passenger seat, Lindsey straddling his lap. Gunn unzips his own loose-fitting jeans and shoves them down just enough so that his dick and balls are free. Lindsey leans back against the dashboard, almost reclining, and watches, his eyes dark now that he's facing away from the lighting. He reaches out with an idle hand and snags his hat from the seat, then hangs it on the gearshift. He pauses before taking his hand off it and fingers it lightly.

"Want me to put this on?"

Gunn shakes his head and reaches under the small of Lindsey's back to get to the glove compartment. Lindsey arches up, his body bowing into this perfect shape that makes his muscles shake and strain, but looks so goddamn good.

"Stay that way," Gunn rasps out and flicks the compartment open, blindly fumbles for condoms and lube, and takes his hand out from under Lindsey.

And Lindsey stays like that, arched and bowed and straining and shaking. Gunn watches Lindsey's mouth fall open, his tongue come out to wet his lips, his eyes roll back in his head. Watches it all and has to touch. He slides his hands under Lindsey's t-shirt, and Lindsey pushes up even more, like he's starved for touch even though it's how he makes his living.

Gunn pinches Lindsey's nipples hard and long, and Lindsey tenses up, growls, then shakes his head frantically from side to side. Only when he whimpers does Gunn let go of them.

"Cock sucker," Lindsey snarls.

"No, that'd be you," Gunn reminds him, and slaps him hard on the inside of his left thigh. "You're gonna ride me, Lindsey. Hard and fast. And you're gonna jerk yourself off while you do it. You're gonna make me come, and then you're going to come. Anything about this confusing to you?"

"Sir, no, sir," Lindsey snaps.

"Don't be sassy," Gunn tsks. "I might take my toys and go home, and I don't think you'd like that much, would you? We clear on what's about to happen, boy?"

"...yeah, we're clear. Except--you got a fucking name or something, man?"

Gunn blinks and realizes that, no, he never did tell Lindsey his name. Mostly because Lindsey never did ask. He wonders if it's significant that Lindsey's asking now, so he narrows his eyes and considers Lindsey, but the boy's good at hiding those eyes that show too much; he's got his lids down so low that his eyes might as well be shut. Gunn figures that significance shouldn't matter to him right now, so he pushes it aside and says, "Gunn. Two Ns."

"Gunn," Lindsey says, and he works his tongue, rolls the name off of it and out of those plump lips like it's a dick he's sucking. Gunn groans and reaches for the condoms. He puts one on and slicks himself up, then hands the lube to Lindsey.

"Come on," he urges, and Lindsey lifts his head just enough to give Gunn a small smile before coating his fingers and reaching around himself. Behind himself. And, Jesus, when he parts his legs a little further, pushes back more, Gunn can actually see Lindsey's fingers moving in and out his ass.

Smug little fucker. Gunn's going to kill him one of these nights, he really is. Oh, fuck. "Get on with it," he grinds out, reaching for his own dick and holding it steady.

"Sir, yes, sir," Lindsey whispers, laughter seeping through his tone, and slides his hand around front. He leans forward and balances himself on his knees, which are braced on the outside of each of Gunn's thighs. When he guides Gunn inside of him and he lowers himself, it's Gunn's turn for parted lips and eyes that roll back, because Lindsey's got some serious muscle control going on, and he's clenching tight around Gunn's dick.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck," Gunn gasps.

"Aw, hell," Lindsey groans. "Jesus fucking Christ."

Lindsey leans back again, rests his mid-back against the dashboard and rides Gunn at an angle. He takes his dick in hand, just like Gunn told him to, and jerks off while he screws himself up and down and in fucking gorgeous spiral motions that are scrambling Gunn's brains, scrambling everything that's not Gunn's dick and his pleasure sensors.

They lock eyes and the shards spark and sizzle, fly back and forth, and Gunn starts thrusting up, even though he'd planned on staying still and letting Lindsey do all the work. But he can't help it, for more reasons than just how good it feels. He can't help it because of the glitter, shards, and edges; because of that darkish part of himself that's getting off on this more than he's gotten off on any other sex he's had in the past two years. Maybe ever.

It's dirtier and wronger, and any second he's going to come and not even get to the part where he gives words to all that dirty wrongness and says them to Lindsey. Which is a shame, because Gunn kinda likes that part best, that not having to censor himself part.

But there ain't nothing he can do about it, not when Lindsey's giving him that _look_ and twisting down on Gunn's cock, and stripping his own dick, and biting damn near through that lip of his. There's nothing Gunn can do but take hold of Lindsey's hips and shove up hard and fast, let his orgasm spread out from his spine and convulse his limbs and shoot from his dick.

Lindsey stops riding Gunn but doesn't stop touching himself, and he doesn't move off Gunn's lap, doesn't even shift enough for Gunn's dick to slide out. Gunn licks his lips, tries to get his breath back, and figures he can still enjoy the uncensored part because Lindsey won't be able to come without it. He forgot that for a minute but now he remembers. Lindsey needs the dirty wrongness, the...humiliation, though Gunn doesn't really like that word for it. At all. Later he'll think of a better word, if he thinks he'll be back for more and will actually need one. For now he'll just roll with it.

"You look like the whore you are," Gunn says roughly, watching Lindsey's jaw tighten, his head fall back, and his hand stroke harderfasterrougher at the words. "Do it harder. Come on, work it. Make it hurt."

Lindsey's knuckles go white with the strength of his grip, and he winces when he twists his hand at the head of his dick.

"Yeah, like that," Gunn says with satisfaction. "Just like that. Jerk yourself raw." Gunn slaps at Lindsey's inner thigh again, a sharp stinging blow, and Lindsey's hips piston up in response. "Dirty little whore. I like how you get off on all this." He slaps the other thigh. "Yeah, definitely worth the money to see you go all hot and bothered like this. Come on, give it to me." He slaps the inside of each thigh over and over, and the skin gets red, and Lindsey starts lifting to meet Gunn's hands even as he tenses and seems to want to twitch away from them.

"Don't you ever shut the fuck up?" Lindsey gasps out.

"You don't want me to," Gunn says instantly. "You need this. Need it to come, because you're such a slut that you can't get off on the normal stuff no more. Gotta be nasty, don't it? Slide up. Fuck your ass with your other hand."

Lindsey contorts himself, rearranges his body in the small space he has, then shoves two fingers it his ass and starts fucking himself with them.

"I know that ass of yours can take more. Show me. Show me what it can take. Come on."

Lindsey adds a third finger, then, after a moment, a fouth, sliding them awkwardly in and out of himself, not nearly deep enough to hit his prostate. He's still stripping his cock raw, and Gunn's getting _hard_ again, and he can't remember the last time that happened.

Gunn takes the condom off himself, tosses it to the floor, and jerks himself off while watching Lindsey get himself off.

"Can you take a whole fist?" Gunn asks, and both of them groan and choke and arch when Lindsey nods in response. "Maybe that'll be next time, yeah? Put you on your hands and needs and fuck you with my fist. See how much of my arm you could take."

And Gunn doesn't even know where this is coming from because he's never thought about fisting anyone, much less anything to do with _arms_, but right now he can see it in his head, and he wants it so damn bad, and he wants everything and anything he can take from Lindsey in any way. The dirtier the better, in fact.

"I--I--can't--too much--not gonna--" Lindsey stutters as he writhes between his own hands, gives himself pleasure because it gives Gunn pleasure to see it, to make him do it. And, Christ, Gunn's about to come again, fuck if he isn't.

"And you'd fucking let me," Gunn gasps. "You'd let me reach up into you. Fucking dirty bitch."

Lindsey comes then, with a scream that echoes in the small space of the truck's cab and assaults Gunn's ears, stripes splattering his abdomen and his chest. He shakes and shudders, and he loses his balance and his head slams against the windshield and he lands heavily on Gunn's thighs.

It's not until Lindsey tenses as he pulls his fingers out of his ass, not until that tight resentment takes over his face, that Gunn comes again, catching it messily in his fist.

And this is the part that Gunn hates, the part where he looks at Lindsey splayed over him, in front of him, and can count his ribs, see the scars on his body, remember that this is a person with circumstances that really fucking suck on so many levels. But this is worse than the other two times because this time Gunn can't just walk away; he's got to untangle them and clean off his hand and move behind the wheel of the truck while Lindsey gets his jeans and boots back on. He has to drive back to near Hollywood and Vine with a broken person staring blankly out the passenger side window.

He has to watch someone helpless walk off and know that he himself perpetuated the helplessness and that he doesn't really give a good goddamn that he did because he got what he wanted out of it and he paid good money for it.

This is the part he hates and it's the part that'll bring him back in a few nights with another roll of bills. Lindsey looks back before Gunn drives away, and Gunn sees that it's the same for Lindsey, too.

"Bastard," Lindsey mouths, his face set marble hard and sharp, his eyes flat and dull. Gunn shrugs and pulls away from the curb.

.End


End file.
